


Under the Helmet

by OwMyFace



Category: Before Crisis: Final Fantasy VII, Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Gen, Loss of Innocence, Moral Ambiguity, Pretentious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 20:18:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4450784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OwMyFace/pseuds/OwMyFace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Genesis' forces attack Junon, Cloud's unit is deployed to protect the city's residents. The mission sees him working onside the infamous Turks, and although at first he's impressed by their skill, a series of unsettling encounters leaves him questioning Shinra's morality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under the Helmet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nikasha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikasha/gifts).



> Written for Nikasha for the FFVII Fanworks Exchange '15. Prompt: It's cadet Cloud's first time seeing the Turks in action. At first, he's impressed by their skill. But when they kill a man in cold blood right in front of him, he feels the need to protest.

**Under the Helmet**

Junon was burning. From the helicopter Cloud could see fat plumes of smoke rising off the tiers of the city. Even the sky was on fire, scorched a brilliant orange by the setting sun. He was feeling sick, but he couldn't tell whether it was nerves or an effect of their rushed, bumpy flight out from Midgar.

Flying into jobs like this, he always felt like he was dreaming. He couldn't quite believe that he was really a soldier, that he was about to go into battle. It just seemed so unlikely. He kept expecting to wake up in his bed in Nibelheim, even though it had been a good year since he'd last slept there. But once he got down into the fighting, he knew he'd have no choice but to believe it was really happening.

He looked around the chopper's hold at the faces of the people in his unit, trying to work out if he was the only one feeling like this. But the visors on their helmets shielded their eyes, and he couldn't tell what they were feeling. The only face he could read was the red-haired Turk's, and he didn't seem nervous at all.

As they got closer Cloud heard explosions, sirens, the rattle of gunfire. The chopper flew low over the city, trying to find a clear spot to unload them, and Cloud could see the Genesis copies swarming over the streets. His stomach lurched as they dropped, and he clapped a gloved hand over his mouth. He didn't want to throw up in his helmet, not in front of everyone.

Denver, who was sitting opposite him in the chopper's hold, leaned over and laid a hand on his knee guard, gave it a reassuring shake. “You'll be okay, kiddo,” he said. “Just stick close to me.”

He was a great guy, Denver. Always looking after the others. He had a photo of his two daughters tucked into the blue fabric of his tunic, that he liked showing everybody during downtime.

“Listen up, yo,” the Turk said. He was on his feet, gripping one of the straps that dangled from the ceiling to steady himself. “We got one minute until we're in there. Remember, we're here to get the civilians out, not kill copies. So don't fight 'em unless you have to. Civilian safety is our number one priority. You got that?”

“Yes, sir!” Cloud barked, in unison with Denver and the six others in their unit.

He couldn't believe the Turk was going into the firezone with just his suit. It wasn't even done up properly. But then, that other Turk, Tseng – a suit was all he'd worn in Modeoheim, and he'd come out okay, even after taking a fireball to the chest. The Turks weren't supposed to have any of the enhancements they gave to SOLDIER, but sometimes Cloud wondered.

The chopper kept dropping until they were only a few feet above the road. Then the hatch opened with a hiss, the Turk yelled, “Let's mosey, yo!” and leaped, jacket flapping, out onto the Junon street.

Cloud thrust his helmet on and followed Denver to the mouth of the hatch. Surely now was when he'd wake up. He wasn't going to last a second out there. He reminded himself he'd been in firefights before, and survived, and this one was no different – but somehow that didn't seem to count for anything. For a second he squeezed his eyes shut. But when he opened them, he was still there, and he guessed he had no choice but to jump out onto the road.

They came under fire the moment Cloud's boots hit the pavement, bullets pinging off the walls of nearby buildings. The shots were coming from a cluster of copies about thirty metres down the road. Cloud dashed to nearest piece of cover he could find – the burned-out husk of a car – and found himself crouched there next to the Turk. The other members of his squad were sheltering in doorways and behind pieces of debris. Nobody was hit. Yet.

The Turk had pulled a pistol out from somewhere in his jacket and was popping off shots at the copies down the street. Bullets pummelled the car's metal shell. Cloud flicked the safety off his SMG and sprang up, sprayed a clip over the enemies. He wasn't sure if he'd hit anything.

When he crouched down to reload, the Turk rolled his eyes at him. “Shit, don't they teach you how to use those? Give it here.”

Before Cloud could object, his gun was in the Turk's hands. “Watch and learn, yo.” Heedless of the bullets flying around him, the redhead planted a boot on the hood of the wrecked car, put his eye to the sights and fired off six short bursts. He ducked down again and passed the gun back to Cloud.

“Three of the bastards left,” he said. “You got a grenade?”

Cloud nodded, hastily unclipped one from his belt. He was faintly embarrassed to be stripped of his gear like this, but he figured it was better to be blushing than dead. For the first time he noticed the little red scars under the Turk's eyes, and a part of his brain – the part that wasn't buzzing with panic – wondered what they were from.

“Okay,” the Turk was saying. “Three second timer, right? Cover me.” He sounded so damn relaxed! He spoke like they were exchanging small talk in a bar.

The Turk pulled out the grenade's pin, dashed towards the copies with it clutched in his fist. Cloud laid down the requested covering fire, but in his head he was counting down until the grenade went off. After two seconds, the Turk – who'd somehow already eaten up most of the distance to the enemies – hurled it. It went off almost as soon as it landed, and the Turk sprinted into the smoke, vanished. Cloud stopped shooting.

The smoke seemed to hang around forever. Cloud was holding his breath. Had the Turk survived? They'd have been goners without him. When the haze finally blew clear, the Turk was standing with three of the copies splayed out at his feet. He beckoned and Cloud ran over to him with the rest of the unit.

“Okay,” the Turk said when they arrived. He wasn't even breathing hard! “Now that's taken care of, we've got to get the civilians to safety. Take a house each, move down the street. I don't care what it takes, just get them out, yo. We're putting them all in there.” He pointed to a huge steel door blocking off the end of the street. As if on cue, his phone started ringing, and he waved them off to answer it.

Cloud crossed the road with Denver. “He's good, isn't he?” he said.

“What, the Turk?” Denver said, shrugging. “He's all right. They're always such damn showoffs, though. What would've happened to us if he got himself killed? He's the one with the orders.”

Denver had a point, but Cloud couldn't help admiring that mad, perfect dash through the smoke. It was the kind of thing he'd dreamed of doing, back in Nibelheim, when he imagined himself in SOLDIER. Thinking about it made him feel bitter. How short he'd fallen from that dream.

He rapped his knuckles hard on the door of one of the houses. “It's okay, you can open up,” he called. “I'm with Shinra.”

He checked over his shoulder – no more copies. Not yet. There was the sound of movement inside, and then the door opened a crack. Cloud could just make out a woman's face inside.

“I'm here to see you to safety, ma'am,” he said. “A rebel group is attacking the city.”

“You think I don't know that?” the woman snapped.

It wasn't the reaction Cloud was expecting, and he took a moment to fumble up something to say.

“We're taking civilians into the lockdown area,” he told her, trying to keep his voice even. He needed to sound calm, in control of the situation, if she was going to trust him. “If you'd like to gather your family, I'll make sure you all get there safely.”

“Who is it this time?” she asked. “Those Avalanche fuckers again?”

Cloud shook his head. “A different group. We don't know much about them.” He'd been ordered not to say anything about the Genesis copies.

“I can't believe this,” the woman said. “That's the second attack this year. What is this, Wutai? We live above a military base, for fuck's sake. Why can't Shinra keep us safe from a bunch of -”

“Sorry to interrupt, ma'am,” Cloud said. “But are you going to come with me? We need to move.”

“This is bullshit,” the woman said. “Okay. Just hold on a sec. I need to put some clothes on.” The door slammed.

Cloud turned around, checked up and down the street again. Still no sign of more copies. But he could hear gunshots, explosions and screams in other parts of the city. Those towers of smoke loomed over everything.

Denver was shepherding a family down the road towards the lockdown area. Cloud checked his watch. How long was this woman going to take? He was a sitting duck out here.

Finally the door open and the woman came out, with a man in tow. He came out barefoot, doing up his trousers. She'd wrapped herself in a silk dressing gown, but it didn't cover much. Cloud hoped his helmet masked his blush.

The woman leaned in to talk to Cloud, and he caught a heady whiff of perfume and cigarette smoke. “Anyone asks, you didn't find him here,” she hissed, pointing to her companion.

“Yes, ma'am,” Cloud said. “Please follow me.”

He led them down the street, cradling his machine gun, scanning left and right for enemies. The steel door had rolled up, and the townspeople had gathered inside a big space that reminded Cloud of an aircraft hangar. He ushered the couple he was escorting inside. There were crowds of people in the lockdown area – the residents of several sections of the city, Cloud guessed, as well as more infantry like himself.

There were more Turks, too. Tseng from Modeoheim was there, speaking to the red-haired one from the helicopter, a small woman with a couple of mean-looking shuriken, and a tall Turk with a sharp face and hair like a Wall Market gangster.

To Cloud's surprise, Tseng beckoned him over with a crook of his finger. He flicked his gun's safety catch on and trotted over. He wondered if the Turk remembered who he was.

“Trooper,” Tseng said. His face was smooth and white like new snow. “We've missed a family, up on Level Eight. The area is overrun with Genesis copies. You'll go with one of our operatives and retrieve them.” He gestured to the Turk with the braids in his hair, who was scowling.

Cloud snapped to attention and saluted, said a “Yes, sir”. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to salute the Turks – they weren't even part of the ranking system – but it felt like the right thing to do.

Tseng turned to the gangster-Turk. “Remember, the safety of these civilians is our priority.”

The Turk nodded and set off at a jog. “Try to keep up,” he told Cloud.

They went out through the roller door, the Turk setting a fast pace, and ran down a deserted street. A new wind was blowing in off the sea, fending off the smells of burning rubber and cordite that had come with the fighting.

They got in an elevator, the Turk punched in the number, the elevator clunked and shook and started rising. Cloud peered sideways at his companion. There was a kind of looseness to the way he stood, somehow both relaxed and prepared for anything. Cloud wished he could be more like that.

“So, how long have you been doing this?” he asked.

“Not long,” the Turk said, without sparing Cloud even a glance.

The doors pinged and slid open to reveal three Genesis copies. Panic seized Cloud, wrestled his limbs into grabbing his gun, even as the copies reached for theirs and he knew he was going to die. There were three bangs, extremely loud in the elevator, and the copies all slumped to the ground. The Turk had whipped two pistols out from under his jacket and both were smoking.

He didn't say anything, just stepped out over the bodies and onto the street. Cloud followed at a trot.

There had been some serious action here – the pavement was strewn with corpses. Genesis copies, SOLDIER operatives and infantry, all reduced to heaps of slack, tangled limbs. There were mechs, too, twisted and burned.

It was a blessing, Cloud thought, that he couldn't see any of the corpses' faces. Their helmets, whether they were Shinra or copies, masked their features. The Cloud often wondered why they did that with soldiers – covered up the faces. Even Wutai troops wore visors.

They picked their way down the street without incident and found the house they were looking for. The Turk stiffened as they approached, eased out a pistol. At first Cloud wondered why, but then he saw the door had been bashed off, was hanging by one hinge.

He clamped his mouth shut and huffed shallow breaths through his nose. Whatever they found in there, he was pretty sure it was going to be grisly.

The Turk led the way in, walking carefully, placing each foot on the soft carpet of the hallway. Cloud felt clumsy in his big brown boots. In here the sounds of battle receded and Cloud could hear himself breathing.

At the end of the hall there were two doors. Silently the Turk motioned to Cloud that he should open one while the Turk took the other. Cloud drew his baton – the gun would be useless at such close quarters. He edged open the door.

A Genesis copy was there, standing over a mother and her children. The family were unharmed but looked scared, big-eyed, had been backed into a corner by the copy. The copy was just standing there, looking down at them.

Cloud leaped forward, brought his baton down with a satisfying crash on its helmet. The copy stumbled and he swung again, a jab at its gut. But its arm shot out, grabbed his baton and twisted it out of his hands. It was so strong! Cloud watched in horror as it snapped his weapon in two. It hit out at Cloud with a right hook, knocked him to the floor. He must have blacked out for a moment, because when his vision swam into focus it was standing over him with its two curved blades drawn.

Then gunshots – five or six in rapid succession. Blood splashed from the copy's chest, sprayed Cloud's bare arms, his chin. It was warm. The copy sank to its knees and fell sideways, landing on its back. Its helmet – loosened, maybe, by his earlier blow – fell off, and Cloud saw its face.

It was one he knew, one he'd idolised, even, one that had made it onto posters even out in a backwater like Nibelheim. The face of Genesis Rhapsodos, SOLDIER first class.

But something wasn't right about it. Cloud got to his knees and shuffled over to get a closer look. There was something rubbery about the features, and they hung from the skull almost like a mask. They didn't seem to quite fit the bones underneath, looked like they were melting.

He became aware of someone kneeling next to him. He glanced over and saw it was the woman he'd helped save. She looked sad.

“He was just standing there,” she said. She was speaking to herself more than anyone, trying to process what had happened. “He stood there for – must have twenty minutes. Just looking at us.”

Cloud didn't know what to say. He was starting to feel kind of sick.

“You know, my husband – he was one of the soldiers who deserted with Genesis,” the woman said. She was rolling up the sleeve of the copy. “He had this tattoo on his shoulder...” She let out a little gasp and let the sleeve fall back.

“We've got to go,” the Turk said from behind them, slotting his pistols back into the holsters under his jacket.

The woman didn't budge. She was staring at the copy's face. Cloud didn't feel much like moving, either. He felt like a block of ice.

The Turk was looking like he found this whole situation pretty distasteful. Did he not see how – how fucked up this all was? How could he be so cold? Cloud watched him cross the room and help the children to their feet.

Cloud guessed he'd better pick himself up. First one leg, then the other. Then push up. The room swayed a little – he could feel a bruise inflating on the side of his head. As gently as he could, he pulled the woman upright, and led her out after the Turk and her kids.

Back in the lockdown area the emergency supplies had arrived, and soldiers were doling out food and water and blankets. Cloud helped the family to a quiet corner, found them something to eat and a blanket. After that he left them. He wanted to help in some way, to say something comforting, but he didn't know what he could do.

He felt drained, still kind of sick. He couldn't get the copy's awful melting face out of his head. How much of the original man had been left in him? There was no way of knowing, no point in worrying about it. He took off his helmet and leaned on the wall, breathed. He tried to think of good things, things that would strengthen him: Nibelheim, his mother, Tifa –

“Hey, are you all right?”

It was that SOLDIER from Modeoheim, Zack. Cloud fended him off with some weak excuses about feeling sick from the flight. He liked Zack, and appreciated his concern, but somehow he knew the boisterous SOLDIER wouldn't understand how he was feeling. He didn't want Zack thinking he was weak.

He was just about feeling better when he heard another voice behind him. It was Tseng, and he had Denver and the red-haired girl Turk with him.

“Trooper. I have another job for you,” Tseng said.

For a moment Cloud was angry. Couldn't they just leave him alone? But he remembered he had a duty to the people of Junon, the others in his unit. He had to keep going.

He stood up and put his helmet back on, saluted. “Yes, sir.”

“We've pushed Genesis' forces back to the upper level of the city,” Tseng said. “Our plan is to wipe them out with an airstrike. But there's a family up there still, a father and two children. He refused to leave his house when we were clearing the area. We need them out within twenty minutes, before the bombs start to fall.”

Cloud nodded.

“Let's hurry,” the red-haired Turk said, motioning to the door with her shuriken. She smiled at him. She had beautiful eyes, he caught himself thinking. Warm, amber coloured. He grinned back at her. It was kind of reassuring to see the Turks weren't all as cold as the gangster from before.

They set off at a run, him and the Turk and Denver.

“How you been, kiddo?” Denver asked as they ran. “You weren't looking so hot.”

“I'm okay,” Cloud told him. “Just – a little shocked by it all.”

Denver grinned at him. “You'll be all right. When I got out of Wutai I thought I'd never be happy again. The things I'd seen. Then one day the wife said to me, 'Denver, stop moping around the damn house.' And now look at me! Free as a bird.”

Cloud laughed. They packed into an elevator, shot up to the city's top level, and stepped out into a firefight. Shinra troops were keeping the copies pinned down the far end of the street with a steady barrage of bullets.

“There's an alleyway!” the Turk yelled over the clatter of gunfire, motioning with her shuriken. They dashed into the narrow, dark lane, boots clattering on cobblestones. When they rounded the corner they were met by a squad of copies. The Turk's weapons flashed and flew and cut them down before Cloud could even get his gun ready. He was impressed.

The door to the house they were looking for was locked, and didn't open after knocking and yelling, so Denver kicked it down and they burst in. The Turk was leading and the moment she entered a baseball bat came swinging at her head.

Quick as a cat she ducked under the blow, punched her attacker in the stomach and wrestled the bat out of his hands. He was a wild-eyed man in his early forties.

“You're not taking them,” he spat.

“Sir, please calm down,” the Turk said, dropping the baseball bat to the floor. “We're from Shinra. We're here to take you and your family to safety.”

“Junon was supposed to be safe! You call this safe?” The man's hands were shaking. “The only place they're safe is here, with me.”

A small head poked out of a doorway. “Who's here, Dad?” the girl said.

The man's face softened and some of the tension left his shoulders.

“Go back to bed, honey,” he said. “Everything's fine.”

“Sir, they're launching an airstrike here in ten minutes. There's a good chance your house will be hit,” the Turk said.

“And that's Shinra protecting us, is it?”

“Sir, I don't have time to argue with you. We need to get your children to safety.”

“You're not taking my kids anywhere,” the man said, baring his teeth. He spread his arms wide so they blocked the hallway. “I'll kill you if you touch them.”

“Sir, I won't tell you again. They'll die if they stay here. You all will.”

The man shrugged. “Worse things could happen to them.”

Cloud didn't understand what he was talking about. This wasn't making any sense. They were supposed to be the heroes, to be saving these people! What was wrong with this guy, that he couldn't see that?

He looked over at Denver. The veteran looked grim, his jaw clenched tight.

“Sir, we'll use force if we have to.”

“Go right ahead.”

What happened next seemed to Cloud to occur in slow motion. He saw the Turk's arm tense just a fraction and immediately knew what was going to happen, and he didn't want it to happen, but there was nothing he could do, and he watched as she flung the shuriken and it opened the man's throat with a spurt of red and he collapsed to the floor.

“Go get the kids,” the Turk said.

Feeling like his head was divorced from his body, Cloud stepped over the corpse and started down the hall. How could she – how could anyone – just take a life like that? So casually.

“What the hell have you done?” he heard Denver say in a voice shaking with anger.

Cloud turned around.

“You can't just do that,” the old soldier was saying. “You can't just – just take a life like that. Who are you? Who are you to decide what's best for his kids? That's a – a parent's right, is what it is.”

The Turk seemed unflapped, even as Denver towered over her. There was no warmth now in those eyes of hers, Cloud realised. She was just as cold as the gangster-Turk had been.

“My mission – our mission – was to save as many civilian lives as possible. That man was dead no matter what we did. Why should the kids have to die too?” she said.

Denver was shaking his head. “This is wrong. This is fucked up. I'm taking those kids. I'm taking them far away from people like you.”

“You know I can't let you do that. We have orders.”

“Try to stop me,” Denver said. He started down the hallway.

Again Cloud watched, again he did nothing, as the Turk lifted a pistol out from under her jacket, shot Denver in the back of the head. Cloud caught the veteran as he fell, gently lowered him to the floor. He crouched down beside him, hoping to catch some final words, a long-held gem of wisdom, a message for his family. But it was too late; Denver was dead.

He looked up and searched the Turk's eyes – those awful, beautiful eyes – for any hint of remorse. If she felt any, it was sunk too deep for him to see.

Cloud felt so many things he thought he was going to die. Surely it was too much for his frail skull to contain. He wanted to curl up somewhere and close his eyes for a very long time. He wanted to drown.

“Come on,” the Turk said. “We've got to get these kids out of here.”

Those kids – he couldn't let them die, not after all this. He got to his feet, his limbs feeling kind of rubbery, and followed the Turk into the house's living room. The kids were hiding under the dinner table.

The Turk crouched down and started trying to coax them out, using a soothing voice. How could she be like that when she'd just killed their father? It made him so angry, and for a moment he thought about making her pay. His SMG was hanging heavy off his shoulder.

But then he'd be no better than them, those Turks. And he didn't want to be like that.

Eventually the kids crawled out – two girls, like Denver's. Cloud scooped up one and the Turk held the other and they carried them out. Cloud clapped his hand over the girl's eyes before they got into the hallway. At least he could spare her that. He was surprised to see the Turk do the same.

“Where's Dad?” the child he was carrying asked.

“He's – he's just gone ahead,” Cloud said, choking a little. “We'll see him again soon.”

The girl knew something was wrong, and she started crying. Cloud carried her back along the alleyway and out onto the street. The sky was still burning that brilliant orange, and against it he could see three black dots. The helicopters.

Suddenly he turned to the Turk beside him, and surprised himself by saying, “Why'd you have to do it?” His voice broke a little at the end of the sentence.

The Turk let out a long, tired breath, shifted the weight of the child she was holding. “The mission,” she said. “Besides, two old lives for two new ones. Is that really such a bad trade?”

Cloud wasn't sure if she wanted him to answer him or not. He realised suddenly the Turk was probably only a year or two older than he was. She'd seemed so much older, before.

“Come on,” she said. “We don't want to be here when those choppers arrive.”

Cloud was about to move on when a piece of paper drifted down in front of him, settled on the ground. It was one of the advertisements – propaganda, he guessed some people would call it – that Shinra smeared over the walls of almost every town. A happy family in their living room, with a yellow lightbulb drenching them in buttery light. “Shinra Electric Power Company: A Brighter Future”, it read. It was crumpled and blackened around the edges. Burnt.

Cloud stepped over it and into the elevator.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like this reads like a video game level – go here, do this, come back, go do something else – but I guess that's maybe kind of appropriate considering what the source material is.
> 
> Thanks so much for an awesome prompt, I hope I've done it some degree of justice!


End file.
